


Fade Back To Me

by literati42



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: "You’re not real.”“Oh, my boy. I’m the only thing that is real.” Martin Whitly smiled at him. He felt a needle slid into his arm and tried to pull away.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Fade Back To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tess_genor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess_genor/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Tess! For you, all the things you like. MCD, a little saucy, so much angst, and Martin being Martin!

Bright looked at the room around him as he stood in the doorway. Jessica sat at the head of the table, laughing as she put her hand on Gil’s arm. His surrogate father placed his hand over hers and smiled back. Dani and Edrisa sat on one side, and he did not miss the glances they kept casting at each other. Ainsley took the foot of the table, occasionally rolling her eyes at their jokes, but beneath the air of superiority, he saw a more genuine smile. Then there was JT, sitting by the empty chair.

“Coming?” he asked.

Bright nodded. It was beautiful, the closest thing to peace he ever remembered feeling.

He wanted to take a step forward, to join the happiness, but he felt disconnected. He blinked, rubbing at his eyes.

“You good, Bright?” Dani asked.

_“And then what happened?”_

_-_-_

Bright tried to open his eyes again, but they felt weighted. He slowly forced them open, then blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He was not staring at the Whitly family living room. He was staring at a dimly lit gray wall.

“Well, what happened next?”

“You’re not real,” Bright said to his father, watching the man step into his field of vision. “I’m at Thanksgiving with my family. My real family. You’re not real.”  
“Oh, my boy. I’m the only thing that is real.” Martin Whitly smiled at him. He felt a needle slid into his arm and tried to pull away, but the Surgeon’s toxins were potent and he felt like clouds rolled across him in an instant.

Bright’s head lulled.

_-_-_

Bright’s vision swam back into focus, and he was standing on the stoop outside his apartment, watching snow falling in slow drifts toward the street. JT stood haloed by a street light, eyeing the screen of his cell. His eyes lifted slowly and met Bright’s.

“There you are. I thought you’d fallen asleep standing again.” JT frowned, “Bright, you okay?”

_“Well, are you, Malcolm?”_

Bright shook his head, trying to dislodge his father’s voice from his mind. “What? What are you doing here?”

JT frowned, walking over. He took Bright’s hand. “It’s our anniversary.”

“Of what?”  
“Mal…” JT frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Are you okay?”

_“Are you okay, my boy?”_

Malcolm felt his legs giving way under him. JT reached a hand for him, fingers brushing against his skin and only grasping air. Just as he was neared the ground, the moment slid away from him.

_-_-_

Bright opened his eyes, rocking forward in the chair, back in the dimly lit room with Martin Whilty in the seat in front of him, arranged to face him at a slight angle, like a therapy office. “Pleasant dream?”

“Why are you haunting me?” Bright raised his hand, running shaking fingers through his hand.

“Haunting you? That is a bit dramatic,” Martin said, “I told you, this is real.”

“No.”

“Malcolm, you have to feel it. When you go into your mind,” Martin waved his fingers toward his forehead, “That something feels unreal.”

Bright thought of the happiness, of walking in to see his family. Of this feeling growing whenever he saw JT. Happiness, he thought. Safety. It was so new, so different. It felt unreal.

Maybe, it was.

He closed his eyes and asked the most dangerous question, the one if he let himself wonder, it would unravel everything else. “How much of it is fake?”

Martin smiled that smile that was some approximation of warmth. “You have to give me a bit more clarity than that.”

Bright closed his eyes, waiting to fade back out, but he could feel his father’s eyes on his face. When he opened them again, Martin Whitly was still there. “If you’re real, how much of what I’m remembering is fake?”

Martin cocked his head to the side, “Tell me your memories, and I’ll tell you what’s real.”

Bright laughed, a cold, unpleasant laugh, and he felt a wave of dizziness reward him. “Why am I even asking. You have such a penchant for making up false realities.”

“My boy,” Martin said, tsking. “Perhaps, when you were a child. Is that so bad?”

Bright’s gaze hardened, “Is gaslighting your child so bad?”

“All parents gaslight their children,” Martin said, waving his hand, “To protect them from the grisly world, to keep childhood magic alive.” Martin shrugged his shoulder. “Maybe when you become a parent, you’ll know what I mean.”

“Yeah, hiding your serial killing tendencies from your son with chloroform is a long way from making your kids believe in Santa,” Bright said back. “You were the grisly world you were hiding from me.” The words took more breath than Bright expected, and he felt the dizziness spinning him again.

“You’re fading out,” his father said, “Try to hold on to where you are…”

It was a useless command. Bright felt the world fading away even as he tried to focus.

_-_-_

JT’s hand reached across the table and touched Bright’s wrist. “Maybe we should go home.”

“I’m fine,” Bright said, rubbing his temple, “I want to be here.”

JT let go of his wrist, “You’re a million miles away.”  
“Just these headaches…” Bright said.

“And the case.”

“And the case…” Bright said. The case was bothering him, poking at his mind. What was it? What was the case?

_-_-_

Bright’s eyes blinked open, “I was working on a case.”

“Possibly clarity or possibly the easiest guess,” Martin Whitly said. “You’re always working on a case.”

“I was working on a case with JT…wasn’t I?” Bright said, “That part was real.” That part fit into his concept of life. Working on cases, arguing with JT. That felt real, felt natural. The touch across the table, the softness in JT’s eyes, that part was the dream.

He had wanted JT to touch him like that for so long, he was adding it in to fill the gaps in his broken memory.

“If you tell me what you’re remembering, I can fill in the details,” Martin said.

“I don’t want you anywhere near my fractured memories,” Bright replied, closing his eyes. The last thing he needed was Martin Whitly’s words, the way they alternated from honey-sweet to bitter ash, seeping in and confusing what memories he had.

“You haven’t asked me how you got here,” Martin said. “Or where here is.”  
“I don’t have to ask how I got here,” Bright replied because of course he was here, wherever here was. All roads led back to Martin, every time. Bright laid his head back, thunking it against the hard chair. He realized distantly that he was not tied up. He could try to escape, try to figure out where he was, at any time.

But the pull of memories, real or not, was stronger than the pull to survive.

_-_-_

Bright stood up from the table, swaying slightly. He felt JT take his arm, felt the worry on the other man’s face. “Bright…Malcolm, I’m taking you home.”

“Eager of you,” Bright tried to tease, but he could not quite put feeling in it.

“Maybe we should go to the hospital.”

“For a headache?”

“You haven’t been right for weeks,” JT replied.

“I just need to rest.”  
“Now I know you’re not okay…”

_-_-_

Bright opened his eyes, “Why was I weird for weeks?”

Martin raised his eyebrow, “I know you’ve never been like other boys, but…”

“No,” Bright replied, “Why was I feeling weird? Is that part real?”

“Oh yes,” Martin replied.

“You’re not in prison.”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” Martin said, sitting back and crossing his legs. “I have to say, Malcolm, your lack of curiosity was the most concerning symptom.”

“Concerning symptom of the poison you keep giving me?” Bright lifted his hand to rub his forehead. “You didn’t tie me up.”

“Well…just try standing,” Martin replied. Bright frowned, but he complied. His legs immediately buckled. He would have hit the floor if Martin had not leaped out of the chair and caught him. The Surgeon, murderer of many, gently maneuvered his son back into the chair.

It was that gentleness that always messed with Bright’s head.

“Time for another dose,” Martin said.

“No no!” Bright tried to argue, feeling the needle before he could coordinate his limbs into moving together. Darkness descended once again.

_-_-_

“Why do murders always have to happen at the docks on the coldest night of the year?” Bright asked, rubbing his hands together to try and stimulate some warmth.

“Not nearly the coldest night,” Dani replied, brow furrowing. “You getting sick, Bright?”

“Are you?” Gil stopped beside them, pulling off his glove. He rested his hand on Malcolm’s neck. “You do feel warm…”

Bright pulled away, “You know who isn’t feeling warm? The dead body lying right there.” He motioned to the bloated corpse a few feet from them. Gil gave him an unimpressed look. “Who did not die of a drowning.”

“What?” Dani asked, even as she gave him a look that said their conversation was not over. For now, she let herself be distracted, and Bright would take that win. “We fished him out of the river.”

“Bright’s right,” Edrisa replied, popping up beside him. “He was poisoned.”

Bright looked at her, then back at the body, taking a few steps forward. He focused on the arm where the injection mark was clear even with the river water bloating. Bright felt his vision swim in and out as he tried to make himself focus.

“Bright,” Dani said, dropping her voice as she came to stand beside him. “You good?”

“I’m not getting sick.”

“No? So why is JT staring at you like he can’t decide if he wants to add your body to the water or hug you?” Dani asked.

“JT often looks at me like that,” Bright replied, but he glanced over to where the detective stood only to find JT’s eyes already on him. Bright looked back at Dani, then back to the corpse.

“Did something happen at your anniversary dinner?” she asked.

“We have a murder to solve,” Bright replied, and there was something nagging at him. Not just the waves of dizziness and pounding in his head, but something. Something he should be understanding about this body.

Something important.

_-_-_

Bright opened his eyes. “Did you poison the man we found in the Hudson?”

“The man you found in the Hudson was murdered. That’s real.” Martin replied.

“By you?”

“By someone, certainly.” Martin smiled, “Does this mean you’re finally remembering?”

Bright looked away.

“Still having trouble sorting out fact from fiction?”

“You know, that’s always been a challenge with you around,” Bright snapped.

“Well, you’re starting to get that fiery spirit back. That’s all your mother,” Martin said, shaking his head.

“Did you poison the man in the Hudson?” Bright replied.

“What a one-track mind. Still, it’s better than the fevered muttering.”

Bright let out a frustrated breath, hanging his head. “I’m so tired.”

“Rest,” Martin said again, “The memories will come when they are ready.”

Bright wondered what would come with clarity. He wondered even more what false memories would fade. Something in his heart fractured as he thought about the memories slowly fading out. Of JT’s hand on his at the restaurant. Of the word “anniversary.” Of the way JT looked at him.

Could he handle those memories being lies?

“You never know,” Martin said, and Bright realized he had said some part of that out loud. “You thought I was fake before. Maybe more is real than you think.”

“I’m not that lucky,” Bright said without looking up.

“Ah, a good memory then?” Martin replied, and Bright sensed him leaning forward. “You could tell me.”

Bright shook his head and gave into the waves of dizziness again. This time welcoming it.

_-_-_

Bright kneeled down by the washed-up body, head tilted to the side as he listened to Edrisa explain her findings. He heard movement from the others around them, his pounding head making it impossible to block anything out.

Gil came up, “Bright,” his tone was quick, sharp. A warning. Bright’s eyes snapped up to him, frowning in confusion. “We have to go.”

“Why?” He stood, then swayed, his vision doubling. Edrisa reached for him, but it was JT’s arms that caught him, held him up—supported him like they always do.

“What’s happening?” JT asked at the same moment Gil’s panicked voice asked.

“Is he okay?”

“Why do we have to go?” Bright asked. He watched Gil’s face go pinched.

“Answer my question first.”

“No,” Bright replied.

“No? You aren’t okay?”

“No, I want you to tell me what you know,” Bright replied.

“Claremont called…Bright, kid…your father escaped.”

Bright took a shocked step back, but the world spun again. JT caught him by the arm, and he cried out in pain. JT let go, looking at him in shock.

“Bright?” he asked. Malcolm desperately pulled up his sleeve, staring down at the bruise on his arm, spreading out from a puncture wound.

“What…what…” The world spun and spun around him. Then it went dark.

_-_-_

“You poisoned me!” Bright said, coming out of the dream. The memories. “How…how did you get me away from them?”

Martin sighed. “Honestly, son, your ability to trust is underwhelming.”

“Answer me!” Bright shouted.

“I didn’t poison you.”

“You keep injecting me with something,” Bright replied. “And you want me to believe you escaped and people started getting poisoned, and you weren’t involved? Especially with this.” Bright pointed to his arm. The one puncture wound from his memory was now surrounded by new ones.

“Malcolm, maybe you are incapable of trust, but surely you are capable of respect,” Martin replied, “Look at that bruise. You think _I_ , Martin Whitly, would leave a bruise like that from an injection? Like an amateur.” He clicked his tongue. “Besides, your memory of temporal order is still a bit…” he waved his hand, “Shaky.”

Bright stared at his arm. The original injection site was still ringed by a ragged bruise, but the others were not. They were akin to the injection sites on the Surgeon’s original victims, the clean injection of a doctor infamous for his gentle touch. The original wound looked like it was stabbed into his arm.

“I…don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand. Your suspect didn’t have a light touch.”

“And your escape was what? A coincidence?”

Martin frowned, “Of course not. I escaped to save you.” His father stood, removing another needle. “Time for a dose.”

“What are you giving me!” Malcolm shouted at him.

“Hush now, my boy.”

The needle went in and sent him back.

_-_-_

Malcolm lay in the hospital bed, his vision swimming as he stared at the ceiling. They thought he was asleep, and because of that, they were not careful with their words.

“You mean you have no idea what’s wrong with him,” Gil practically shouted from the doorway.

“I’m saying we haven’t identified the poison yet,” an unfamiliar voice, the doctor Bright guessed, replied.

“And the injection?”

“It was rough, punched into his arm.”

“How would he not have noticed that?” This was JT.

“He’s on a lot of medication,” the doctor replied, lowering her voice. “If it was done while he was asleep…” The doctor let the trail off, “His family is in the waiting room. Come on.”

Bright listened to the retreating footsteps.

Then another set entered the room. “Hello, my boy.”

His eyes flew open to see his father, disguised as a doctor, leaning over the hospital bed.

_-_-_

Bright woke up to see that same father standing over him now. “Not long now,”

Martin said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It really won’t take many more doses,” Martin replied, raising an eyebrow. “I know doctors always say things like ‘this won’t hurt,’ but I am quite serious.”

“No. I don’t believe you escaped to save me.”

Martin took a seat again. “I love you, my boy.”

Bright looked away from his father.

“The man who poisoned you, and your Hudson river victim, was trying to get back at me,” Martin said. “The victim was just a trial run, but you were the real target all along. He called me to gloat.”

“Really?” Bright asked, skeptical. “And is he dead now?” He saw a cold look cross Martin Whitly’s eyes.

“Not yet. There were more pressing concerns.” Martin waved at Malcolm’s arm. “But he will be. There is nowhere in this world he can run to escape me.”

His words, full of violence and absolute conviction, stopped Bright’s protests. “You’re telling the truth.”

“Of course I’m telling the truth,” Martin stood, pacing. Bright saw the anger, the caged tiger violence of his father, rippling under the faux calm exterior. For him. Martin was angry, protective, of him. “That fool thinks he can take what’s mine.”

Bright flinched as if struck. “Of course.”

Martin whirled around. “Of course?”

“Not love,” Bright said, “Ownership.” Not love, not love the way he felt it from Gil, or from his mother and sister. Or JT, if any of those memories were real. To his father, he would always be “My boy” emphasis on the _my_.

Martin Whitly was off his game, that was the only explanation Bright had for his slip. “What’s the difference?” the former doctor said. He caught himself the moment the words were out and forced himself to still. Martin Whitly slipped back into the role of doting father like a worn-in glove. “What is love if not a desire to possess?” He said it lighter, as if talking philosophy. “That is how a murderer like your poisoner would think.”

“Who is he?” Bright asked. Martin picked up his syringe, squirting it slightly and tapping the end to remove air bubbles.

“The lover of one of my alleged victims.” Martin kneeled down, “Not many sleeps left now, my boy.” Bright tried to jerk away. He wanted to think not remember.

_-_-_

The memories were not moments this time, but a whirl weaving in and out of time. He saw his first meeting with JT—Gil telling them they would not like each other. He saw moments in the squad car, teasing JT as he tried to guess his name. He saw himself putting a bandaged hand on JT’s shoulder and the detective telling him to move it. He saw JT save his life, again and again.

Bright saw the first time something in the air shifted between them. A late-night after a hard case where JT handed him his jacket because he was “too skinny and would probably freeze.” He saw when the conversations shifted, the thousands of moments where they still argued, but it felt different than before.

He saw himself kiss JT on a whim, drunk at a holiday party. Could almost feel JT push him away again. “You’re drunk,” JT said to him that night.

“But I mean it,” Bright replied.

Bright remembered JT showing up the next day with hangover cure breakfast.

He saw their first date.

He saw the moment they realized this was serious.

Bright saw the night JT finally agreed to come up to his apartment. He followed him, tentative up the stairs. His eyes looking for permission before he touched Malcolm. The kiss that made Malcolm feel week. He remembered JT pushing him against the counter, his hands roaming and Bright’s mouth tracing every inch of JT’s throat. He remembered being on the bed, wrapped in sheets and each other.

Bright saw JT asking him out for their anniversary. Heard him suggest they start talking about living together.

The memories collided with each other, violent and warm and passionate. And oh how he so desperately wanted it all to be real.

The sound of something crashing jerked him from the memories and forced him back to the moment.

_-_-_

Bright’s eyes snapped open as the door to the dingy room splintered apart. He turned to see his father escaping, a secret passage in the floor. Damn that man and his secret passages. “That way,” Bright screamed at the first cops through, “He went that way!” Some of the SWAT team went streaming after the Surgeon, the rest seemed to flood the room with noise that pounded through his head. Then there were the detectives. His detectives.

Gil was the first one to him, falling to his knees. “Bright, Bright? Kid?” Gil’s hands cupped his face, tilted it up to look in his eyes. Another set of hands, Dani’s, touched the injection marks on his arm. Bright looked over their heads, seeing JT standing in the doorway watching him, and he could not read the expression on his face. Bright collapsed into Gil’s arms.

_-_-_

Bright stood in his apartment and wondered when the sense of unreality would finally fade.

He stood very still, focusing on everything around him. Bright did not know how long he stood there, but he startled at the sound of someone banging on his door. He looked at the stairs, unmoving. Then the door opened on its own. Before he could yell out, JT came up them, eyes wild. “Bright?” he asked.

“JT? You let yourself in.”  
“You signed yourself out of the hospital,” JT replied, voice nearly a yell. Bright flinched, away from the sound that slammed into his pounding head more than the tone itself. The detective strode to him without so much as a hesitation. “When I got to the hospital, they said you were gone.” JT’s fist clenched, “For a second, I thought…”

“You thought I was dead.” Bright felt something inside him wavering. He looked at this man and thought of the memories. How much of it was from the substance his father gave him? How much of it was real?

JT’s anger melted, “You should be in the hospital.” He said, and he took the last few steps to Bright, then cupped his face. Bright startled again, away from the touch. JT’s brow furrowed in confusion. He touched Malcolm again, this time tilting his face to examine it. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I…you surprised me,” Bright said. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. “My head is…messed up.”

“That’s why you should be in the hospital,” JT said, but the tone was soft.

“The stuff, whatever he gave me. It messed with my head.” Bright shook his head as if he could clear his thoughts. “I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t…JT…are we…are you an I…?”

JT’s confusion only grew. “Are we what?”

“I love you,” Bright said then, half confession and half question.

“I know,” JT said, and Bright felt like his legs would go out from under him. He practically fell into JT’s arms, let himself be held up.

“It was real? You and I are real?”

JT’s worried expression only grew. “We’ve been dating for a year. It was our anniversary. Bright you…don’t remember?”

Bright buried his face in JT’s shirt. “I remember everything,” he said against him, “But I didn’t think it could be real. That I could be this lucky.” JT’s arms tightened around him.

“You’re confused,” JT said, “I’m taking you to the hospital. We have no idea what your father was dosing you with.”

“I just wanted to be somewhere familiar,” Bright said, but he had no fight in him, and he let JT lead him toward the door. “So, I could get a grip on what was real.”

“I’m real,” JT said, and there was nothing better he could have said. “We’re real.” JT’s lips grazed his hair as they walked awkwardly down the stairs together, Bright burrowed against his side. “We’ll figure out what your father gave you.”

“And the first guy.”

“The first guy?” JT asked, waving down a cab so he could stay with Bright instead of driving. One stopped almost at once, and Bright let himself be packed into the back of it without letting go of JT. He felt the sense that if he let go, he would lose touch with this. With them. With the reality of who they were to each other again.

He could not lose that again.

“What first guy?” JT prompted again.

“The one that poisoned me.”  
“Bright, your father poisoned you.”

“No, not originally,” Bright replied, “The guy who killed the Hudson river victim and attacked me originally…that happened before my father escaped.”

JT’s posture went stiff beside him. “That’s why you were acting weird? The headaches? We thought it wasn’t connected because your father did not escape until later.”

Bright shook his head, “I was poisoned before he got there.” His eyes flew open. “Did you find him? My father.”

JT shook his head, “And then you were missing from the hospital again.” JT closed is eyes, running his hand over his eyes. “Like reliving a nightmare. Imagine my relief and then immediate righteous anger when I found out you signed your damn self out.”

Bright curled into him further.

_-_-_

“Yes, he signed himself out, AMA,” Gil said into his phone to Dani as he grabbed his coat from his office. He had stayed behind to coordinate the search for Martin, sending JT to watch over his boyfriend at the hospital, only for JT to send a message that Bright left—fortunately on his own this time.

One of the officers dropped some files and a package on Gil’s desk as the man collected his stuff. He hung up on Dani. JT had said he was headed to check Malcolm’s apartment, which left Gil to guess at anywhere else the kid might have gone.

His phone rang again, an unknown caller. Gil answered before the first ring ended.

“Detective Arroyo.”

Martin Whitly’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Where are you?” Gil growled.

“Detective, I did not poison Malcolm.”

“And you didn’t chloroform him as a child either?”

“My son signed himself out of the hospital.”  
Gil’s blood ran cold. “How do you know that?”

“You need to find him, Arroyo,” Martin said, ignoring his question. “I wasn’t the one that poisoned him. I was giving him the antidote, and he still had a few more doses.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?”

“You’ll believe me or we will both watch _my_ son die,” Martin’s voice had gone icy. “The antidote is on your desk.” Gil’s eyes snapped to the package his office had just dropped there. “Oh and Arroyo. Don’t bother looking for the man who poisoned my son. You won’t find him before I do.”

The line went dead, and Gil slowly approached his desk. The box said “For Arroyo” in a handwriting he wished he did not recognize.

_-_-_

Martin Whitly hung up the payphone and looked up at the brownstone he stood in front of. He slowly pulled a syringe from his coat and approached the house of the man who tried to use his son to get even with him.

_-_-_

JT held on to his boyfriend as the cab drove to the hospital, prying one arm loose to try and text Gil. He needed to let the detective know he located the missing profiler.

Before he could, Bright sat up. “Pull over.”  
“What?” JT said, as the cabbie met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Pull over.”

JT nodded and the cabbie complied. Bright’s door was open almost before the taxi stopped. He stumbled on the sidewalk.

“Bright? Bright?” JT reached for him, catching his coat. “Dammit, I should have got an ambulance. Call an ambulance!” He shouted at the cabbie. His eyes went back to Bright. “What’s wrong?”

“Hot…can’t breathe,” Bright said, nearly stumbling out of his hold, but JT tightened his grip. “Dizzy.” Then Bright fell. JT barely had time to get a better grip on him, only managing to guide him to the sidewalk. He sensed the cabbie standing beside them, calling for an ambulance, but it felt far away. Everything narrowed in that moment. Bright taking up the whole of JT’s world.

“Bright, Bright,” JT said again, “Malcolm.”

He maneuvered Bright into his lap. Bright turned his head into JT, his eyes clamped shut.

“The memories…” Bright said, “Everything…everything is jumbled.”

“I have you. I’m real. You need to hold on.”  
“Tell me you love me. It’s real?”

“It’s real,” JT said, feeling his throat tightening, “I love you.”

Bright’s fingers curled around his shirt. “We’re together?”

“Yes. It’s real Bright.”

JT felt a tremor run through Bright’s body. “I love you,” Bright said.

“The ambulance is coming.”

JT’s phone was ringing from his pocket, but he did not let go of Bright to answer it. It rang and rang until it went to voicemail. Then it started again.

“Bright, Malcolm. Hold on. Bright…”

“Just keep…just keep telling me you’re real,” he said quietly. JT buried his face in Bright’s shirt.

“I’m real,” he said, “I’m real and I love you. Bright. I’m real and I love you. Hold on. Hold on. Bright. Bright? Bright?” JT raised his head, staring down at Malcolm. He saw his pale skin. His body unmoving. JT fumbled for his pulse. Fumbled for it, finding nothing.

It felt like JT’s heart stopped too.

“Bright?” JT felt his breath stuttered, “Wake up. I’m real. You have to come back because this is real. This is real Bright, but it can’t be real if you’re not here. Do you understand me? Bright? Malcolm? Mal?”

He said his name, over and over again, as the sound of the ambulance drew closer.

Bright lay in his arms, unmoving. Lifeless.

Gone.


End file.
